


CDC

by Bennyhatter



Series: Wild Soul [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daryl is too, God someone please just hug Daryl Dixon, He needs to die a horrible death, Human Alpha Rick, M/M, Oh wait, Rick is a BAMF, Shane is a fucking asshole, Submissive Wolf Daryl, Werewolf Daryl Dixon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The group makes it to the CDC, and finds out that hope isn't always enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	CDC

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck. You. Muse. It took me days to fuckin' finish the second chapter for the musician!Daryl fic, and I'm STILL not done with the next chapter for my original story. Oh, but this pours out of me with no problem. Of course it does.
> 
> God. Fuck my muse. Bah.
> 
> So this little timestamp is set between chapters one and two of "The Wild Runs in Me". Because I was like "God, I didn't even do anything for the CDC. I should fix that." And I did.
> 
> Good thing I don't have to work until later. I'd be so fired right now.

Doctor Edwin Jenner is a man who is waiting to die. He’s not going to be the one to kill himself, Daryl can realize that much, but he’s waiting for death, and that death is going to come soon. How soon remains to be seen, and the wolf is planning on being long gone with his family before then, so he’s not too concerned about it. He watches the man with narrowed, wary eyes when he’s not enjoying the safety of the CDC, feeling more comfortable in the underground labyrinth than he was expecting to, but otherwise lets himself relax slightly.

Rick was right about the CDC being up and running, at least, even if it’s only staffed by a single man. The terror he’d felt when the alpha had started kicking at the metal doors, shouting and desperate, isn’t so easy to shake off even now. He’d been convinced that his alpha had led them to their deaths. In the end, though, the doors had indeed opened, and no one smelled more like shock and anger than Shane as they’d all bolted into the safety of the building. When they’d slammed shut behind the group, Daryl had growled softly, wanting to pace immediately. He felt trapped, but he supposes that in the end, a few days of discomfort is a hell of a lot better than a group of hungry walkers.

While Jenner is drawing his blood, Daryl subtly sniffs the air, wrinkling his nose at the scent of chemicals and poppy. He ignores the prick of the needle as it slides beneath his skin, staring dispassionately at the dark red of his blood as it fills the vial.

“You’re all pretty haggard. Been out there a while?” the man asks, trying to start a conversation. He’s talking to the wrong person, because Daryl is not at all feeling in the mood for a friendly chat. He’s still aching over losing Merle, even though he’s sure his brother isn’t dead, and Shane’s constant aggression-scent is raising his hackles in all the wrong ways. He grits his teeth, feeling his molars shift and his canines thicken slightly, but he tamps down hard on his Wild blood. He can’t quite stifle his rumble when the needle is removed, and starts licking at the tiny puncture before the good doctor can press gauze to it.

“Don’t fuckin’ matter,” he growls, already shoving out of his chair and reaching for his crossbow. He hasn’t felt comfortable enough to be too far away from it yet, and knows he’ll probably be dead the day he does. Throwing one last look at the man, he flares his nostrils and snorts before he’s out of the room and heading down the hallway. He can hear the rest of the group taking showers, can hear Rick and Lori together and wheels around quickly to stalk the other way. He’s fucking tired of hearing people having sex, and he can already smell the child growing in the woman. It doesn’t belong to his alpha, which only leaves one other person, and he’s thoroughly disgusted that neither of them have seen fit to admit that they were fucking like rabbits when they thought Rick was dead.

Yeah, they’d thought he was gone, and Lori was looking for comfort, but the man’s alive and well, and the damage has already been done. Shane’s not good at being told no, he’s seen that plenty of times, and the way the man looks at his alpha’s wife, the scent that rolls off of him when he does, makes Daryl want to shift and rip out his throat. If he thought he’d be believed, he’d tell Rick right the fuck now, but he’s just some no-good Dixon. Lori is Rick’s wife, and Shane is his best friend. There’s no way he’d believe a piece of redneck trash over that.

Snarling, he tightens his hold on his crossbow strap and kicks at the closest wall, a dull ache vibrating up his leg and a hollow thud echoing in the quietness. He leaves a good-sized dent and can’t even be pleased about it, too focused on trying not to lose his fucking mind and let his wolf out, because there’s no way any good would come from that.

“Problems, Daryl?”

Great. Just the asshole he wanted to see. Glaring back over his shoulder, the archer grits his teeth and watches Shane stride closer. “The fuck you want?”

Shane gets in his face, breath hot and already reeking of alcohol courtesy of the bottle he’s gripping in his other hand. Looks like someone started the party early. Or started sulking. “You really think this is where we should be?” the man growls, trying to intimidate him, trying to force him into submitting. He’s not having it, though, more than used to assholes like Walsh in his life. Settling in, he braces himself with his feet slightly apart and his shoulders squared, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his chin as he sneers.

“Sure as fuck beats haulin’ ass a hundred miles toward a pipe dream we ain’t even sure exists. Nothin’ but walkers between here and there. So yeah, I think this is where we fuckin’ should be right now. You don’t like that plan, yer free t’ leave, Walsh. Don’t let the door hit ya on th’ way out.”

“There’s one fucking guy here,” Shane spits, almost knocking their foreheads together. Daryl refuses to be cowed, his Wild blood burning and his wolf pacing as a deep rumble comes from somewhere in his chest. “How the fuck’re we supposed to find some magical cure when there’s _one fucking guy_?”

“Maybe it’s our lucky day,” the archer spits back, knowing already that that’s not the case but not caring even a little. At least not at the moment. Jenner may be a scientist, or a doctor, or whatever the fuck he is, but he doesn’t have the first clue what’s going on—or at least, no more of a clue than the rest of them. “Have a little faith. Rick’s yer best friend, ain’t he? Supposed to be, at least, if you’d get yer head outta yer own ass long enough ta stop pesterin’ his _wife_.”

Shane swings at him, and he snarls as he dodges easily, spinning out of the way and kicking out to trip the man. He stumbles, already too close to drunk to catch the quick move, and drops his bottle as he slams his hands into the wall to keep from busting his face on the plaster. Daryl stays just out of reach, his breathing heavy and tight and his jaws aching, his lips pinched together. He feels a line of fur ripple down his spine, the feral fever making his eyes flicker briefly.

“Hey, Daryl, I was wondering if you could help me with some…thing…” Dale trails off, stopping and looking at the both of them with wary concern. Shane shoves himself up and pastes on a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, making like he’s going to clap Daryl on the shoulder until the archer backs out of reach and forces down another growl.

“Sorry, man. Guess I’ve had a bit too much to drink already. Dinner should be soon though, right? That ought to help.” Carefully leaning down, he swipes up his bottle and walks away after one last look. As soon as he’s out of earshot, the wolf turns to look at Dale and narrows his eyes.

“The fuck you want, old man?”

 

 

 

Andrea looks absolutely miserable when they lead her to dinner. She keeps close to Dale, leaning on him for support metaphorically if not physically, and Daryl watches the way the older man gives her all of the comfort she needs and more. He really does love her like she’s his own daughter, his scent like soothing citrus mixed with bitter ginger. In comparison, Andrea’s scent is sharp like snow and hurt like bruised flesh, her sorrow over her sister still very much fresh in her mind.

The feast laid out before them is far from a banquet, but after so long on what little rations they’ve given themselves, everyone is eager to fall upon the bounty and the wine their host has provided for them. Daryl swipes a full bottle of liquor and settles himself down away from the rest of them, watching everyone enjoy themselves as he drinks straight from his bottle. He knows he should eat as well, and he will. After everyone else. This isn’t a wolf pack, and he doesn’t have to wait his turn, but he’s better at dealing with hunger than the rest of them are, so let them eat what they want. He’ll pick at whatever’s left. It’s not rabbit, or deer, but it’ll do just fine for now. As soon as they’re gone, though, he’s gonna catch himself a nice doe.

Shane, of course, has to ruin the festivities, his eyes glittering with malice as he presses at Jenner’s sore spots over what the hell is going on out in the world now. Daryl swallows a snarl along with another mouthful of whiskey, trying to block out the stench of burning eucalyptus rolling off of the scientist in waves. Glenn’s whine about the man being a buzzkill is entirely fitting, and Rick’s storm-colored eyes are dark as his alpha glares at his best friend. It makes Daryl want to slink closer and try to comfort him, but he has no idea how to go about doing that in a way that won’t come across as absolutely creepy, so instead he reaches out guardedly and brushes his mind against the human’s, nudging gently like he would if he were bumping shoulders with the alpha.

It has the intended effect, surprisingly. Rick relaxes enough for the swirling start of a thunderstorm to leave his eyes. He still wants to hurl his bottle at the back of Shane’s head, maybe follow it up with a fist to the face, but that probably won’t end well. Hell, there is no probably. It’ll end with Walsh dead and Daryl as a wolf, and that’s not something he can afford right now. Not trapped underground with nowhere to run.

In the end, Jenner makes some excuse about the morning and leaves them to their rest. Carol and Sophia are the first ones to head for the rooms, the little girl managing to smile and smelling as sweet as summer peaches and apples as they go. She’s a good cub, and Carl’s not that bad either. They’re sure a hell of a lot better than he and Merle were when they were that young.

One by one, the rest of them trail away until it’s just him and Rick. His alpha is turning his empty wineglass slowly, looking at it with eyes that are far away. Daryl slides off of his perch and steps soundlessly toward the table, giving a subtle sniff to gauge the alpha’s emotions when he’s closer.

“You haven’t eaten yet.” Those dark, stormy eyes catch his, and the wolf pauses, cocking his head to the side before lowering his gaze and rolling his chin to offer the side of his throat. “Can’t just survive on booze, Daryl.”

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it,” he snorts, kicking the chair Andrea had sat in out of the way and reaching out to snag a few pieces of mystery meat. A quick sniff doesn’t determine what the hell is in it, exactly, other than manufactured shit, and he eats it anyway, because fake meat is better than nothing at all. It’s salty and ham-sweet, nothing even close to venison or rabbit, but beggars can’t be choosers, so he eats those few pieces and goes back for more.

“Why did you follow me here?”

The self-deprecation in Rick’s voice makes his hackles rise, and the wolf whines softly, too quiet for dulled human ears to hear. “Ain’t got nowhere else to go,” he mutters, picking through the rest of the leftovers to see if there’s anything else that catches his eye. Considering how he was raised, he stopped being a picky eater a long time ago, because it was either you eat what’s in front of you, or you don’t eat at all and you go to bed bleeding. Even if it doesn’t look particularly appetizing, he eats it anyway, because he needs his strength to stay alive and to stay sharp. These people are still mostly hopeless at taking care of themselves, and they mean something to Rick, so he’s going to have to show them how to survive right if any of them are planning on surviving at all.

“Could have struck out on your own. You really don’t seem like the type of guy who likes people.” It’s gentle and teasing, though, and when he glances at Rick his alpha is trying to smile. It eases something in the wolf, and he smirks crookedly.

“I don’t. People are fuckin’ stupid, most’a th’ time. Figure it’s better t’ stay with this group, though, since I already know all y’all. Beats havin’ ta find new people and put up with their bullshit. ‘Sides, ain’t all bad.”

“Not most of us, no.”

Rick looks like he needs a good, stiff drink. His alpha looks tired and drawn, like the weight of the world is doings its very best to crush his shoulders. Coming around the side of the table, Daryl glances at the man and then quickly swipes the last chunk of meat off of his plate, already sinking his teeth into it by the time Rick even notices. He doesn’t protest, just watches with something in his eyes that makes the archer shiver slightly, his throat working a little too hard to swallow. Trying to distract himself, he shoves the bottle at the human and frowns.

“Take it. Looks like ya need it more’n I do right now.”

“Just might,” Rick agrees, accepting his offering and taking a long swallow, his head tilted all the way back and his adam’s apple bobbing. Turning, Daryl walks the fuck out, heading for his room and only pausing when Lori hurries past, her eyes bright with tears and her scent something between terrified and furious. There’s a hint of Shane there, but nothing like there was before, and he can smell the traces of blood beneath the woman’s fingernails. Looking back down the hallway toward the rec room, he bares his teeth and growls quietly before he slips into his room and slams the door. He checks his crossbow first, making sure it’s still ready in case he needs it, and crawls onto the narrow couch he’s claimed as his, turning so he’s facing the door and waiting for morning to come.

 

 

 

The room full of computers is cold, and it puts him on edge to the point that Daryl has to force himself to lean back against one of the machines and take quick, methodical breaths to avoid hauling ass back to the couch in the room he’s claimed as his own. He watches the rest of the group mill around, trying to curb their impatience before Jenner talks.

“Vie, bring up the scans for TS-19,” he calls, and the feminine robotic voice echoes his words as a picture appears on the screen. Glancing at it, the archer frowns. He follows the explanation well enough as Jenner tells them about synapses and brainwaves—everything that makes them who they are. His gaze keeps straying to Dale, though, because out of everyone, the older man seems the most tense, his head turned slightly to stare at something on the wall more than he’s focused on the recording of the figure—someone Jenner cared about quite a bit, judging from the bitter sorrow leaking off of him. When he glances that way as well, he sees a digital clock ticking down.

The group watches, tense and holding their collective breath, as test subject 19 dies and is reanimated in a way they’ve never seen before. There’s nothing left of who she was, her entire brain dark until she comes back, and even then it’s just the smallest flickers of red instead of bright, buzzing blue. Most of them jerk and gasp when the bullet cuts a path through the skull. Daryl just clenches his jaw. Andrea’s reaction isn’t surprising, after what happened to Amy. Their explanation to Jenner is met with understanding.

“I lost someone, too,” he says quietly. “I understand how much it hurts.”

Test subject 19 must have been his mate, then.

“So you don’t know what this is?” Rick asks. His alpha has finally realized what Daryl already knew—Edwin Jenner has no more of a fucking clue than the rest of them, even if he’s got a laboratory at his disposal to try and figure it out. Coming to the CDC was still a lot better plan than trying for Fort Benning, though, so he can’t fault his alpha for doing what he thought would be best for the group as a whole. It still sucks, though.

“Gonna get fuckin’ shitface drunk again,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes and sighing.

When Dale brings up the countdown clock, he’s not surprised. He is curious, though, and Jenner’s vague response is enough to raise his hackles. He’s lucky he’s turned away from everyone else, because he’s pretty sure his eyes are gold. Everyone snaps into action at that point, and Shane seems more than happy to follow Rick to the basement along with T-Dog and Glenn to check the generators while the others head for their rooms. Daryl follows, determined to keep an eye on the others in his alpha’s stead and get plastered while doing it. He’s built up a tolerance to alcohol after years of spending most days drinking booze like it was water, so he’s not even mildly buzzed when the air conditioning cuts off and he hears Jenner striding down the hallway. When he pops his head out to see what’s going on, the man takes his bottle and drinks deeply, looking like he’s on a mission as he walks back to the control room. The others follow, voicing their confusion, but Daryl already understands.

Doctor Edwin Jenner is walking to his death.

That poses a serious problem, because they’re still with him. He’s getting ready to die, and it involves that fucking countdown, and the entire group is still underground with him. Daryl paces while Rick tries to figure things out, wishing that his alpha would just cut his losses and tell them all to get the fuck out _now_ , while they still can. As soon as Vie’s mechanical voice answers Rick’s question and explains about the facility-wide decontamination they’d better not fucking be here for, Daryl hauls ass for the door when the order is given.

It slams shut before he can get there.

“What the fuck!” Jerking back, he whirls with a snarl, hardly even comprehending Jenner’s words as he talks about the end of life like it’s the greatest gift he could be given. Rick is already searching out his gaze, a silent order clear and understood. Daryl grabs the bottle from where Jenner put it and hurls it at the steel door as hard as he can, watching it smash and not caring about the splatters of booze that speckle his front; the shards of glass that fly back and slice his forearms.

“Open this damn door!” he roars.

Shane’s quick order to move is probably the only one he’ll ever willingly listen to, because the man’s holding an axe and looking a little crazed. Daryl accepts the second axe that T-Dog tosses his way, spinning and putting all of his weight behind each swing until sparks are flying with every blow. He and Shane work together, determined, but the archer’s reasons are a little more frantic and crazed. He can already feel his Wild blood burning, can feel the feral fever rising as his claustrophobia makes his chest tighten. They’re trapped, _he’s_ trapped, just an animal in a cage, and if they don’t figure out something they’re going to be dead, and Daryl _refuses_ to die. Not today, or any other day in the near future. He’s spent too damn long surviving his shitty life to let some nutjob who’s clearly lost his goddamn mind send them all up in a blaze of fire.

Shane’s the first one to admit defeat, growling impressively as he pulls back and tries to think of another way out. Daryl barely catches the tail-end of Jenner’s conversation with the others, Rick’s desperation leaking through. His alpha is still so determined, even despite the odds being firmly against them right now. As long as he keeps fighting, they all should do the same.

“Those doors are designed to withstand a rocket launcher,” Jenner tells Shane, calm and accepting until he sees Daryl coming at him, the archer’s teeth bared and the axe raised.

“Your fuckin’ head ain’t!” he barks, readying himself to swing until Dale and Rick get in the way, trying to hold him back even though there’s too much Wild in him, now, their struggling almost useless against the wolf until T-Dog wrenches the axe from his hold and Rick gets right in his face.

“Back up!” his alpha snarls, the air crackling with his power as he asserts his rank. Daryl goes from fighting to letting himself be pushed back, eyes glittering and teeth clenched as he stalks out of reach and paces, whining softly. Dale tries to comfort him, tries to ease his distress while keeping an eye on Andrea at the same time.

“You wanted this,” the scientist protests, drawing all eyes to him. He's looking at Rick. “Last night, you said it yourself. You knew it was only a matter of time until everyone you loved was dead.”

Daryl refuses to believe that, even if everyone else is quick to. That doesn’t sound like Rick, doesn’t sound like his alpha at all. He may have worried about keeping everyone safe, but he would never give up. Jenner is twisting his words, he’s gotta be. Daryl’s ready to tear into him again, already looking for the axe, but Shane is there with a gun just as he finds it. While Rick tries to talk some sense into his friend, Daryl watches and waits, ready to lunge if it looks like his alpha’s words aren’t getting through. As much as he wants to watch Walsh blow the fucker’s brains all over the room, Rick has a point. Jenner is their only key to getting out, and if he’s dead, then so are they.

They all watch on, the seconds ticking down, as Rick presses at Jenner, demanding to know _why_ , and the truth comes out. Daryl goes back to hacking at the door, trying to work out a little bit of the Wild before it consumes him in a way that cannot be undone. He’s not even paying attention to the rest of the conversation, focused and determined until it finally slides up and they’re free.

“Let’s go!” he shouts, waiting for a few of the group to rush past before he’s following. They’re scrambling to get to the rooms and get their stuff, and he almost wants to scoff at them. Their lives are more important than their clothes. He doesn’t even bother grabbing everything the way they’re trying to, just snatching his crossbow and bolting for the main doors.

Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is this building made out of? They’re hitting the glass windows with everything they’ve got, and they’re not even putting a dent in it.

“Daryl!”

Rick’s voice, just his name, and he throws an axe to his alpha, almost forgetting he’d snatched up the second one after slinging his crossbow over his shoulders. They work together, trying to get the group to safety, and when Shane shouts and raises his gun, they all scramble to get the fuck out of the way. Not even a blast from the shotgun does any good, and Daryl’s about ready to shift and hurl himself at the glass as a wolf, consequences be damned, when Carol calls for Rick and comes forward, already digging through one of the packs.

Jesus, he takes back everything he thought about the packs being useless, because the woman is handing over a _grenade_ , and he’s getting the fuck out of the way along with everyone else, clapping his hands over his ears to try and muffle what he knows is coming. Rick pulls the pin and hesitates, and the wolf wants to howl at him to _get the fuck away from the live grenade, you fucking idiot_. Maybe something of that reaches his alpha, because Rick jolts into action and just manages to pass him when the explosion happens, knocking the human off his feet and shattering the glass.

Thank fuck.

They get the hell out, walkers already swarming. There’s no time to get his bow ready, so he just starts swinging with the axe, cutting a path to safety. Everyone scrambles to get into their vehicles, and he’s already slammed the door to his truck shut when he realizes that they’re missing some people. Jacqui, Dale, and Andrea aren’t with them. He whines, his eyes burning, and looks over in time to see the old man and the blonde woman come crawling out. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he grits his teeth and watches with golden eyes as they hurry to take cover, getting there just in time as the CDC explodes in a roar of billowing fire and destruction. As soon as possibly feasible, they’re on their feet again, hurrying toward the RV where Glenn has already thrown the door open and is shouting for them to hurry.

Breathing in deeply, the archer looks at the burning remains of the CDC, watching the walkers turn and head for it once they’re on their feet, drawn by the sound and the sight of it, probably. Somewhere in there, Jenner and Jacqui are now nothing but dust, and maybe not even that. Whining softly again, he bids farewell to the woman, a quick nod of goodbye sent toward the soul of the feisty black lady. He can’t really blame her for wanting a swift, painless death over a slow, agonizing one. In the end, she chose to opt out, chose to go on her terms.

As they drive away, he glances in his rearview mirror and thinks of another burning building and another life lost—of a young cub turning the street corner and seeing his home in flames and his mother nothing but ashes, burned away by her own choice because opting out was better than living with the decisions she’d made.

Jacqui isn’t his mother, though, and he’s not a cub anymore. He hasn’t been on in a long, long time. Daryl turns his attention back to the road in front of him, his skin still crawling and the Wild still very much in danger of making him feral. As soon as they stop to reconvene, he crawls out of the cab and into the bed, unstrapping Merle’s motorcycle and checking it quickly. With the CDC lost, Fort Benning is their only remaining option, and like hell he’s going to drive that whole way in his beat-up truck. He eases the bike out of the bed and starts it, smiling at the familiar, comforting roar. It’s a lot louder than the truck, but it’s also a lot smarter, and no one protests when Rick motions for him to take point. Like this, he can get in and out of tight spots better, and find a way for the rest of them through any traffic tangles if he needs to.

It’s not leading, not really. It’s just being practical.

 

 

 

T-Dog is a fucking idiot. If he hadn’t panicked, he’d be fine, but he had, and now he’s bleeding from the deep wound on his arm, trying to play dead beneath the corpse Daryl threw over him. The archer is nearby, laying perfectly still under another body and keeping his breathing slow and level as more walkers than he’s ever seen in one place stagger around them. One trips over his legs, and his Wild soul roils, his wolf clawing to be free, but he manages to keep his control by the skin of his teeth. He can smell the fear and tension from the rest of the pack, can smell Carol’s watery terror for her cub and Rick’s bitter-apple helplessness for his own family.

As soon as the walkers are gone, their shuffling steps fading away, he kicks the corpse off of himself and drags the other one off of T-Dog.

“You deserve a gold medal for bein’ th’ stupidest motherfucker I ever saw,” he growls as he hauls the man to his feet and wraps his rag around the wound. “Fuckin’ broken glass, ya stupid fuck. God. Gonna be dead ‘fore the month’s out at this rate.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the man grunts. The archer sneers at him, but he’s careful about where he steps as he helps the injured human back to the others. They’re all slowly making their way back to the cars to regroup, and he takes a quick headcount to make sure everyone is there. His flicker of relief is short-lived when Sophia screams, and then Carol screams, and then the cub is bolting for the woods with two walkers in tow, and Rick doesn’t even take the time to grab a gun before his alpha is racing after them.

“Shit!”

Shane is the only reason Carol doesn’t run after her daughter. Maybe he’s not a complete fuck-up after all. They can do nothing but wait, tense and on edge. Dale tends to T-Dog’s injury, cleaning the laceration and wrapping it with some of the gauze they’ve managed to find in one of the abandoned cars. Daryl paces a little way away from the others, periodically reaching out to search for Rick’s mind. He knows before the others when his alpha is coming back, and he knows before they do that Sophia is not with him.

Glancing at Carol, he presses his lips together tightly and sniffs, rubbing at his nose with the side of his wrist. He already knows this isn’t going to end well when his alpha comes out of the woods with some walker gore on his shirt and no cub following after him. The woman’s harsh accusations make him want to snap at her, because it ain’t like Rick didn’t _try_. He was the first one after Sophia while the rest of them just stood and stared.

“Daryl,” his alpha calls, and he glances at him, squinting against the sunlight. “I need your help.”

“’Kay,” he agrees quietly, because of course the man needs his help. He’s the only one of them who can track worth a damn. He’s the only one who can find Sophia. Knowing that makes something in him shift, because these people have never relied on him like this before, and suddenly they’re all looking at him like he’s their savior, Carol’s wet eyes wide and hopeful and so fucking grateful, like he’s already got her cub. He doesn’t know what to do with that, because for the most part, these people still look at him and think little of what they see, and now all of their hopes are resting on him to locate a lost cub.

Sophia is a sweet little girl. She’s so innocent, so unsullied by the tar that sticks to the rest of them because of what they’ve had to do to survive. She’s just a cub, and despite everything else, his instincts are clamoring for him to _find and protect_. He can’t fail her in this, so he jerks his head to Rick, baring his throat for his alpha and waiting for him to lead the way. When Shane and Glenn come along as well, he tries not to let his frustration show, because they’re too loud and Shane is still riding high on the fact that he got his way in the end, making comments and observations that are subtle and unsubtle in the way that he’s undermining the choice Rick made to leave Sophia and draw the walkers away from her.

“Scared little girl, bein’ chased by walkers. Who knows how much of what you said actually got through.”

“She understood me just fine,” Rick rumbles, pacing back and forth in the creek while Daryl crouches down to look at the little alcove the water carved into the bank. It’s just big enough for the cub to have squeezed in, and pretty well hidden by the roots. Glancing to the side, he sees clear tracks and nods.

“She understood, all right,” he agrees, rising and following the tracks up the bank with his eyes. When he sees Glenn standing right where he needs to be, he curls his lip. “Hey, Short Round, step off t’ the side. Yer muckin’ up the trail,” he barks. The Asian man quickly moves out of the way as he hauls himself up and checks to make sure he hasn’t screwed anything up. It doesn’t matter, because Sophia’s tracks clearly lead away from the stream. “She headed back just like he said.” Glancing back, he sees the three of them looking at the ground, trying to see what he sees as easily as breathing. Not a single one of them has any experience, so when her heavy tread fades into something lighter, clear signs of passage becoming less so, they have no choice but to follow as he tracks the cub. She’s downwind, or at least she was, which sucks major ass, because the wind is blowing her scent away from them.

“The tracks stop here,” Rick mutters, sounding frustrated and desperate as the humans look around.

“Nah,” he disagrees. “They ain’t gone. Just faint. She turned here.” Frowning, he looks at how they trail off in the wrong direction, gripping his crossbow a little too tightly. “She’d’a been fine if she’d’a just kept goin’ like this. Why’d she change direction?”

“Maybe she ran into another walker,” Shane suggests, and his tone is really starting to grate on the pale wolf’s last nerve.

“No other tracks but hers,” he snips back, his eyes darkening. “Would know that, if ya could fuckin’ hunt worth a damn.”

“You and Glenn head back to the others,” Rick cuts in before Shane can get even more worked up. “Daryl and I will keep tracking her, try and see what we can find. See if you can get their minds off of it for even a little bit.”

“I’ll think up some chores, keep everyone busy. See if we can scavenge anymore supplies,” his friend mutters, hands on his hips as he rotates his jaw. “You gonna be okay out here? Could stay.”

“No, you’d best get back. We’ll be fine.”

Once they’re gone, their scents dissipating on the breeze, Daryl huffs and turns back to following Sophia’s trail. The fact that she’d turned so suddenly is bugging him. He can’t shake it, because there are no tracks, and no scents, that should have steered her off course. So what made her do it?

They work silently, for the most part, and the wolf is still amazed by how in-sync they seem to be despite their vastly different natures. He and Merle could never hunt and track like this, they always needed to communicate somehow, even if it was mentally. When they hear the walker hissing and groaning, though, he glances at Rick and knows what his alpha wants with just the tiniest shift of his head, no words—verbal or otherwise—needing to pass between them. Dropping low, the archer slinks around just out of sight until he’s in position, his crossbow raised and ready. When Rick steps into the thing’s line of sight, whistling softly, it snarls and Daryl puts a bolt through its skull as easily as someone slides a knife through butter.

When they’re standing over it, looking at the blood on its face and shirt, Rick pulls on a pair of gloves he didn’t even know the human had with him and crouches down.

“The hell’re you doin’?”

“Checking for skin underneath the fingernails,” his alpha replies. Oh. That makes sense. “Flesh in the teeth.” He pulls a sliver out and frowns at it, like he’ll be able to determine what kind of flesh it is if he stares hard enough. He must realize that’s not going to work, though, because he pulls out his knife.

Daryl stops him before he ruins anything, moving to stand over the corpse and drawing his own hunting knife. “How many kills you ever gutted ‘fore in yer life, anyway?” he asks. It’s a rhetorical question, and Rick chooses to step out of the way rather than respond. “’Sides, mine’s sharper.” His is probably the sharpest blade out of anyone’s, because he takes care of his weapons with a reverence that borders on obsessive. He’s got a reason to, though, considering that they used to be the difference between being hungry and having food. Now they’re also the difference between surviving or becoming a monster out of nightmares.

The smell is horrendous, but he doesn’t let it stop him. After years of gutting and cleaning his food, he’s found a sort of serene monotony in doing it, everything fading into inconsequence as he slips into a familiar rhythm of sawing and carving. He comes back to himself after he’s pulled most of the organs out of the way, digging around and slipping his tongue out slightly as he frowns in concentration. When he finds the stomach, he chuffs softly.

“Yeah, Hoss had himself a big ol’ meal recently,” he grunts, pulling it out along with a few other organs. When he goes to cut it open, Rick touches his shoulder and stops him.

“I’ve got it.”

Figuring it can’t do any harm, he watches his alpha as he cuts into the organ and starts digging around with his knife. Most of what he pulls out is just dark mush, but Daryl spots something and slides his knife in, hooking the tip in an eye socket and pulling out the tiny skull. He holds it up to look at it better, furrowing his brow as he snorts.

“This gross bastard had himself a woodchuck for dinner.” Flicking the skull to the side, he wipes his knife clean on his shirt and stands up, glaring down at the remains of the walker carcass. Rick stands beside him, hands on his hips, and smells like bitter herbs and hot anger.

“At least we know,” he mutters, turning and heading back toward the highway. Daryl falls into step behind him, feeling a creeping sense of defeat that he refuses to acknowledge yet. They haven’t found Sophia, but she’s a smart kid. Hopefully she’ll know to look for somewhere safe to hunker down for the night. He managed it just fine when he was a cub.

“At least we know.”

Somehow, knowing doesn’t make him feel better at all.

**Author's Note:**

> So hey, if you've got any ideas for anything else you'd like to see in relation to this fic, just drop a prompt and I'll see what I can do.


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